There has obviously been a lengthy delay in posting since I was in Minnesota. As many of you will be aware, I had to return home for family reasons. Thanks to the many friends who offered their assistance and support through this difficult period. A very tough week for all concerned. Right now, I scarcely know where to start. I don't feel too much like continuing on this trip at all really, but the bike is here and the clock is ticking, so I will make the best of it.
From Minnesota, I crossed into Canada at Grand Portage and followed the very scenic road around the edge of Lake Superior, stopping overnight at Nipigon and Sault St. Marie. The latter being where I experienced one of the crappiest looking motels I've ever seen. Amazingly enough, the room wasn't bad, and the desk guy was very helpful. Then followed a long, relatively boring run through Sudbury and North Bay, and on to Ottawa. I was feeling a bit under the pump at this stage, doing a lot of miles and not much else. While I had a few days in Ottawa, I revised my plans and decided to cut out going to Nova Scotia, and heading for Maine instead.
Just before I hit Montreal, I stopped for fuel, taking almost a whole tankful. Immediately after this, the bike started coughing and spluttering, and worse still, cutting out at low speed. I was convinced I had ingested a load of dirty fuel. My run through Montreal was truly memorable, for all the wrong reasons. I thought I would be stuck on the freeway system of a city where people spoke only French, or worse, drop the bike in bumper to bumper traffic. Anyway, I made it through to Sherbrooke, where I was able to find a small motorcycle dealership who got me sorted. A piece of rubber tube covering an attachment point for a vacuum gauge used during servicing had come off, and the engine was sucking in extra air. I thought this may have not been reattached properly after the service I had in Sturgis, but what can you do? I know I didn't take the bloody thing off. Anyway, these multilingual lads made up a workable gizmo which solved the immediate problem, and off I went.
After an unusual interaction with the US border guards at a remote border post, I re-entered the US. I don't know what these guys were thinking, but I got the third degree. Maybe they were usually bored out of their skulls, maybe they thought I was scoping for Al Qaeda, whatever! I was there a good half hour while they pressed buttons on their computer. Lesson learned. Shut up and just answer the questions. Five minutes later as I headed south, I came up over a slight rise, to be presented with the rear end of a deer standing in the middle of the road. It certainly didn't see me, not from that position, and I had visions of plunging my helmet straight where the sun don't shine, before I jammed on the brakes and stopped. Explain that to the insurance company. Even then, it just stood there till I beeped several times, before finally ambling off the road. Its probably on the front of a truck by now.
I headed to Bangor, where I stayed a few days while arrangements were made to go home. Thanks to the indefatigable Steve Linden and the BMWOA handbook, I was able to leave the bike with Dave and Janice Warner in Yarmouth, just outside Portland, Maine, until my return. They are an awesome couple, and I am indebted to them for their unconditional hospitality and support. After recuperating from a tortuous 51 hour epic return journey, I decided to take a week to mosey down to the Linden residence in Hendersonville, North Carolina. I decided to avoid the congested east coast, or eastern seaboard as they are fond of saying over here. And I notice we are now copy-catting that expression in Australia. Why doesn't anyone have a western seaboard? Or a southern seaboard? What happened to the word "coast", is it past its use by date?? But I digress.
So I headed straight across Maine to New Hampshire, and rode the Kancamagus Highway through the White Mountains, (thanks for the tip, Dave) then went across to Vermont, overnighting in Burlington. Up and across Lake Champlain by ferry, and into New York the next day, followed by a great ride down through the scenic Adirondack Mountains, on into Pennsylvania to Harrisburg. I spent two days here, visiting the National Civil War Museum. I found this to be both interesting and very moving, as was the battlefield at nearby Gettysburg. Will we ever learn to resolve our differences without blowing each other to bits? No? OK, just asking.
By this stage, the traffic was building up to levels where it was demanding to both ride and to navigate, so I searched for the roads less travelled. They are few and far between in this part of the country. So I made my way down through Maryland, into Virginia, and then into West Virginia. The latter being a new experience for me. I was advised that West Virginia has the lowest level of income per capita in the whole country. I don't know if that's true or not, but by the time I left I was prepared to believe it. Despite the beautiful scenery I saw, I also noted a lot of busted ass towns, run down houses, untidy overgrown farms, derelict factories and rednecks. A prominent Senate election poster I kept seeing said "Tired of Being 50th?" Kind of a self fulfilling prophecy, I thought. Strangely, I saw no black people the whole time I was there. Being part of an impoverished, downtrodden, disheartened underclass is a white man's job around them thar parts.
Even the gas stations look neat and tidy in Maine. Possibly because they don't look like gas stations! Well, this one doesn't anyhow.
Lake Lure, NC
Mural in Hendersonville, NC
Main Street, Hendersonville
Checking out craft beer establishments with Steve and Vicci Linden. They're all good !
From Minnesota, I crossed into Canada at Grand Portage and followed the very scenic road around the edge of Lake Superior, stopping overnight at Nipigon and Sault St. Marie. The latter being where I experienced one of the crappiest looking motels I've ever seen. Amazingly enough, the room wasn't bad, and the desk guy was very helpful. Then followed a long, relatively boring run through Sudbury and North Bay, and on to Ottawa. I was feeling a bit under the pump at this stage, doing a lot of miles and not much else. While I had a few days in Ottawa, I revised my plans and decided to cut out going to Nova Scotia, and heading for Maine instead.
Just before I hit Montreal, I stopped for fuel, taking almost a whole tankful. Immediately after this, the bike started coughing and spluttering, and worse still, cutting out at low speed. I was convinced I had ingested a load of dirty fuel. My run through Montreal was truly memorable, for all the wrong reasons. I thought I would be stuck on the freeway system of a city where people spoke only French, or worse, drop the bike in bumper to bumper traffic. Anyway, I made it through to Sherbrooke, where I was able to find a small motorcycle dealership who got me sorted. A piece of rubber tube covering an attachment point for a vacuum gauge used during servicing had come off, and the engine was sucking in extra air. I thought this may have not been reattached properly after the service I had in Sturgis, but what can you do? I know I didn't take the bloody thing off. Anyway, these multilingual lads made up a workable gizmo which solved the immediate problem, and off I went.
After an unusual interaction with the US border guards at a remote border post, I re-entered the US. I don't know what these guys were thinking, but I got the third degree. Maybe they were usually bored out of their skulls, maybe they thought I was scoping for Al Qaeda, whatever! I was there a good half hour while they pressed buttons on their computer. Lesson learned. Shut up and just answer the questions. Five minutes later as I headed south, I came up over a slight rise, to be presented with the rear end of a deer standing in the middle of the road. It certainly didn't see me, not from that position, and I had visions of plunging my helmet straight where the sun don't shine, before I jammed on the brakes and stopped. Explain that to the insurance company. Even then, it just stood there till I beeped several times, before finally ambling off the road. Its probably on the front of a truck by now.
I headed to Bangor, where I stayed a few days while arrangements were made to go home. Thanks to the indefatigable Steve Linden and the BMWOA handbook, I was able to leave the bike with Dave and Janice Warner in Yarmouth, just outside Portland, Maine, until my return. They are an awesome couple, and I am indebted to them for their unconditional hospitality and support. After recuperating from a tortuous 51 hour epic return journey, I decided to take a week to mosey down to the Linden residence in Hendersonville, North Carolina. I decided to avoid the congested east coast, or eastern seaboard as they are fond of saying over here. And I notice we are now copy-catting that expression in Australia. Why doesn't anyone have a western seaboard? Or a southern seaboard? What happened to the word "coast", is it past its use by date?? But I digress.
So I headed straight across Maine to New Hampshire, and rode the Kancamagus Highway through the White Mountains, (thanks for the tip, Dave) then went across to Vermont, overnighting in Burlington. Up and across Lake Champlain by ferry, and into New York the next day, followed by a great ride down through the scenic Adirondack Mountains, on into Pennsylvania to Harrisburg. I spent two days here, visiting the National Civil War Museum. I found this to be both interesting and very moving, as was the battlefield at nearby Gettysburg. Will we ever learn to resolve our differences without blowing each other to bits? No? OK, just asking.
By this stage, the traffic was building up to levels where it was demanding to both ride and to navigate, so I searched for the roads less travelled. They are few and far between in this part of the country. So I made my way down through Maryland, into Virginia, and then into West Virginia. The latter being a new experience for me. I was advised that West Virginia has the lowest level of income per capita in the whole country. I don't know if that's true or not, but by the time I left I was prepared to believe it. Despite the beautiful scenery I saw, I also noted a lot of busted ass towns, run down houses, untidy overgrown farms, derelict factories and rednecks. A prominent Senate election poster I kept seeing said "Tired of Being 50th?" Kind of a self fulfilling prophecy, I thought. Strangely, I saw no black people the whole time I was there. Being part of an impoverished, downtrodden, disheartened underclass is a white man's job around them thar parts.
Even the gas stations look neat and tidy in Maine. Possibly because they don't look like gas stations! Well, this one doesn't anyhow.
Lake Champlain. That's some lake.
Exquisite architecture of rural Pennsylvania.
Yee Har.
Well that bit looks OK. Most of it looks OK.
I didn't say a thing. Anyway, different State.
Lake Lure, NC
Mural in Hendersonville, NC
Main Street, Hendersonville
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